


High Fives and Fist Bumps

by HeyJaybird



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7074646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyJaybird/pseuds/HeyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the culture shock of waking up in the 21st century: high fives and fist bumps. Or, why are you sticking your hand out at me like this?, by Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Fives and Fist Bumps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oneorangeshoelace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneorangeshoelace/gifts).



The Chitauri are arriving in waves, and Steve’s acting on something close to instinct. 

He swings - left, left, forward, left - it’s not a pattern, but it feels routine in how sure of his movements he is. He feels like they’ve been fighting for hours, and all his body can do is continue or collapse.

So he continues.

He catches two at once. “Nice work,” says a clipped voice, approaching from his left. He doesn’t swing. Nat does. She lifts her hand at him - and stops. She is moving quickly through the rubble, and passes by him, arm still raised. Steve almost trips staring at it. She stares back. Their momentum drives them past each other. The confusion is quickly overwhelmed.

As they sit silently, each shawarma, he asks her about it. The entire table laughs, and the spell is broken. They swap stories of feats of daring as Nat explains high fiving to Steve.

–

It’s a quiet day for Sam and Steve. They spend the morning at the farmer’s market, with Steve carrying heavy bags of tomatoes and cucumber and flour and honey for Sam. Sam buys him a almond croissant for the trouble.

They spend the afternoon pickling vegetables. Steve shows Sam how his mother used to do it, completely each step reverently and carefully. He tells him about the little Victory Garden he had insisted they grow on the fire escape outside their apartment, and how his mother had dutifully preserved the few tiny cucumbers they had managed to grow.

Sam hands him Mason jars and tells him about his own kitchen rituals - practically watching the layers of flavor build as his mother cooked, helping to cut tomatoes and snap the ends off green beans until his hands felt like they’d never done anything else. They hold each others stories and stack Mason jars in a cool, clean cabinet.

Sam extends his fist horizontally to Steve, still eying the jars. “We should quit saving the world and take up homemaking.” he half-jokes. He looks over at the pause. He laughs and tells Steve about fist bumps, building new moments in his bright kitchen.

–

Bucky tries to remember the last time he was touched gently.

It’s a game, a “game”, he plays with himself. He tries to jog his memory with specific prompts. Yesterday, he tried to remember how he knew not to touch fire, and he remembers a woman bandaging his burning hand, telling him he had to be patient, that the jam would cool and then he could have all he wanted. He remembered sniffing, “Yes, Ms. Sarah.” He remembers Sarah.

Today he tries to remember the last time he was touched gently, and he walks circles in a nameless park, in a nameless city. His meditations twist away from his thought exercise.

A cry brings him back. Ahead, a child who had, until recently, been on a scooter is half kneeling on the pavement, her tights torn and shins read. He jogs a few steps forward and kneels too.

“Hey,” he says, trying to wish his rough voice back to gentle, “Hey. Don’t cry. Where’s your mom?”

She sniffles loudly. “She b-brought, my br-brother to the-the bathroom.” she manages, pointing just off the road behind her.

“I wa-was going to sh-show her how g-good I can r-ride.” she wails.

Bucky smiles creakily. “I saw you ride. You were really good.”

She rubs her running nose with her sleeve. “Really?”

He nods. “Are you kidding? That was great. Your mom’s gonna be so proud.”

She smiles and holds her hand up. He stares at it.

The girl giggles. “It’s a high five! My teacher says you can do it when you did a good job. Did your teacher never teach you that?”

He shakes his head. “No. Show me.”

She picks up his arm, not recoiling from the metal. She taps her hand to his. “See? That’s it!”

He smiles again. “Yeah. I see.”

Bucky remembers the last time he was touched gently.

–

Bucky deeply resents moving back to New York City.

He appreciates the necessity. After everything, he needs the support system. Outside of Wakanda, the only people he knows he can trust - not just on a war buddy level, but a deeper level - are Sam and Steve. Even if Sam keeps setting his ringtone to that one Rick Astley song, for reasons he still can’t determine.

So he moves, but he won’t move in with Sam and Steve. He’s not prepared to be treated like and aging grandmother who can no longer live on her own. He moves out of Brooklyn, into Queens. The ghosts are fewer there.

Queens comes with Spiderman, and the youngest Avenger has taken to him.

“Hey! Bucky! Buck! Bucky! Bucky Barnes!”

Peter swings alongside him. 

“Bucky! Guess what?”

Bucky sighs, shakes his head. His groceries sag in his arms. “What?”

“I passed all my classes! I’m going to graduate!”

Bucky pauses, looks at him. “You should be passing all your classes.”

“Don’t be like that, Buck. I’ve had a pretty stressful semester, so this is a minor miracle, all things considered.”

Bucky chuckles. “Congrats on graduating, Peter.”

He gasps in mock horror. “My secret identity, man. It’s secret for a reason!”

Bucky shakes his head. “Sorry, Spiderman.”

Peter swings in close. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” He pauses. “And thank you for the history help. You should’ve seen Ms. Murphy’s face when I listed “Bucky Barnes, in conversation.” as a source.”

“It’s no problem.”

“No seriously, thank you. You’re alright, for an old man.”

He holds his hand out in a horizontal fist. Bucky stares at it.

“Oh my god,” Peter says, lifting his mask to look at him as he laughs, “You’re so old, you don’t know what a fist bump is.”


End file.
